


A masked Valentine’s Ball

by HedgehogWrites



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Anal Virginity, Blushing Harry Potter, Confident Count Flagler, Confident Draco Malfoy, Eventual Smut, M/M, Masked ball, Masks, Masturbation in Shower, Oral Sex, The Ballroom Scene (Labyrinth), Valentine's Day, hidden identities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 14:01:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29333466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HedgehogWrites/pseuds/HedgehogWrites
Summary: Harry is invited to the annual Flagler’s Valentine’s Ball. A place where masked, incognito participants are rumored to engage in rather sinful activities. What happens at the ball, stays at the ball, or so it’s said. The perfect place for Harry to explore if he’s into wizards as well. If, that is, he manages to convince himself to go.Count Flagler has set his mind on Harry and his gorgeous arse. Will Harry allow the attractive Count to take his virtue?‘Nah-ah’, the Count shakes his head. ‘You’re already in too many clothes for my taste.’ He leans in and whispers: ‘I like my men naked and whimpering.’ Harry feels himself blush.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 29
Kudos: 134
Collections: Rainy Day Reads





	1. February 10th, London

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! Almost Valentine’s, so I decided to write a little smutty fic. 
> 
> A little warning: Harry’s wife has died. There’s not many details in this fic, but just a fair warning before reading. If you’re afraid this’ll trigger you, please refrain from reading! Other than that not much out of the ordinary. Only a wizard that gropes Harry at the ball, but he handles that without effort.
> 
> Harry and I both love the movie Labyrinth. This story has the ballroom scene of it slightly woven into it. As a rather annoying bonus I now have the songs from it stuck in my head. Luckily I love David Bowie :).
> 
> I will add a small chapter every day until Valentine’s Day. That’s when the smut is happening, woohoo! If you’re just here for that, wait until February 14th.
> 
> EDIT: it’s finished! Please let me know what you think of it!
> 
> Enjoy reading and have a happy Valentines!

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_You are invited to the annual Flagler Valentines Ball for Eligible Bachelors._  
_Enclosed mask is your entrance ticket as well as an international Portkey to Paris. It’s spelled so it will only fit yourself. There will be one or more compatible wizards, witches or other magical genders wearing a matching mask._

_Dress code: Labyrinth of Jareth’s ballroom. No jeans. Dress to impress._

_Without further notice we’re delighted to see you on February 14th at 20:00 Greenwich time._

_With kind regards,_  
_The noble house of Flagler_

  
Fuck. It’s only the most illustrious event of the year. He knows Ginny would have murdered someone to join the notorious ball. He feels his throat tighten a bit.

Harry though? Harry’s a lot less enthusiastic. Parties aren’t his cup of tea in general, because everyone is either awestruck when they see him, or feel compelled to be mean and disrespectful. They share opinions he thinks better are left unvoiced. And since Ginny’s death it’s even worse. People he doesn’t know empathize with him, share their own sad life events or flirt blatantly. Why would this party be any different?

Harry shakes the envelope. A gorgeous, Italian handmade mask falls out. It’s painted a deep emerald green, off white and gold. It features a traditional diamond harlequin pattern. The golden lines on the mask are adorned in rhinestones and diamonds. Harry flips it over a few times. The precious stones gleam in the sunlight, creating stunning rainbows of lights. They give the mask a remarkable sort of life.

Harry removes his glasses and slips the mask on his head, fastening its luxurious velvet ribbon in the nape of his neck, right under his messy bun. He is surprised to find himself see through it as if he’s wearing glasses. It must’ve got some intricate weaved in vision spellwork.

He looks at himself in the mirror. Wow. He looks royal with the mask on. The eye sockets leave just enough space to give a glimpse of his eyes, without giving away his identity immediately. His fingers trace the pattern of the mask. The mask makes him feel strangely sensual. He feels his prick twitch a bit. Harry appreciates the feeling as it’s been a while.

Parties like the Flagler’s are famous for attracting young, rich and fit witches and wizards. There are spells all over the place, to keep people from recognizing each other. What happens at the ball, stays at the ball, or so it’s said. But he’s heard the whispers of people who attended. Stories of sensual encounters and even plain sex have reached his ears. Is he ready for this?

‘Would it be wrong to have a bit of fun?’ He can almost hear Ginny’s voice in his head. ‘Sweetheart, please. Go live a little. Have fun. Do it for me.’ He knows he’ll probably hate every second of it, but he has made up his mind. He’s going. At least he’s going to be incognito. Oh, that reminds him. He needs new clothes. His usual formal is attire too recognizable. He’ll floo Dean tomorrow.

Harry smiles to himself. He’s really doing this. It makes him feel a bit giddy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry has decided to go. Or has he? And whatever will he wear?


	2. February 11th, London

After breakfast, Harry makes his way over to the floo.

‘Thomas’ Fashion and Tailoring, how may I help you?’ Timothy’s crinkled, friendly face shows up in the floo.

‘Good morning Timothy, would you mind getting me the boss?’

‘Auror Potter! Not at all. One moment.’ The floo goes black for a second, before showing him the smiling face of Dean. 

‘Harry! So good to see you!’ His warm, deep voice envelops around Harry, making him feel comfortable instantaneous. If only Dean wasn’t as straight as a pencil and one of his best friends, Harry wouldn’t have minded going out with him at all. Dean is calm, efficient and selfsure. And of course quite the sight to look at, his toned, broad body always clad in the best fitting trousers. Harry wonders how his firm arse would feel when he would stroke it through said fitting trousers. He smiles at his wicked thought and realizes Dean is waiting for an answer. He blushes a bit. Damn. 

‘When you’re done ogling my arse, Harry, would you mind telling me what I can do for you?’ Dean gives him a small wink. Flirtatious bastard, Harry thinks as his blush deepens. 

‘Well, I’ve received an invite to the Flagler’s ball.’

Dean looks at him wide eyed and claps his hands in excitement. ‘Seriously?! Harry!’ His eyes cloud over. ‘Please tell me you’re going?’ Dean of course knows about his aversion to parties. He nods.

‘Thank goodness! It’s about time you got laid.’ Dean smiles broadly at him. ‘Might stop you watching my arse.’

Harry snorts and swats Dean’s head through the floo. ‘Ouch! But seriously, Harry. It’s time for a nice fling or just a good fuck. It’s been two years, lad. You’re entitled to some fun. It doesn’t have to result in a 20-year marriage.’ His gentle smile warms Harry.

Harry hasn’t had a relationship or even sex since Ginny died two years ago. Not that people weren’t offering. He just couldn’t bear exploring pleasure with someone not her. But lately, he finds himself opening up again. Wanting to explore the feeling he’s not only into witches. He knows he likes to watch the wizards in porn mags just as much, their muscular, square bodies and hard cocks. He should just go clubbing and pull, as his friends have told him over and over. But going out for a quick fuck isn’t what he wants. People might only want him for the fame, he can never be certain of their intentions.

Besides, a few snogs aside, he’s only had sexual experience with Ginny. It’s scary to start this whole dating thing, knowing he feels rather inexperienced in the sexual area. At least at this party he’ll know the one with the same mask as he is compatible. That might make it easier to let some of his walls down.

‘Rumor has it Count Flagler himself might join.’

‘Really?’ Count Flagler has a reputation of fucking everything in his way. After the war, he suddenly appeared, claiming that after the dire war times, wonderful parties were needed to restore people’s moods. And he’s thrown outrageous ones, filled with alcohol, music and sex.

The Count has never been seen without a mask and glamour. No one knows his identity, only that he’s from a long line of wizards. No one is even sure if he’s a Flagler at all. He’s revived the annual bachelor ball with a naughty twist, turning the prestigious event into a shameless sexy version. It has been a great success ever since the war ended ten years ago. He also hasn’t joined the ball the last few years, claiming there weren’t any compatible wizards or witches available.

‘Yeah. It’s said he has found a suitable person this year. Hey, it might be you!’

Harry snorts. ‘Yeah, as if. I’m not special at all.’

‘Oh Harry... You’re only a war hero, nothing to write home about.’ Dean rolls his eyes. ‘You could have everyone.’

Harry smiles wistfully. He wishes he shared Dean’s confidence. ‘If only, Dean.’ 

Dean shakes his head. ‘Well now, I’d best start tailoring the best suit ever. What’s the dresscode?’

‘Labyrinth of Jareth.’

‘As in the eighties movie? Ooooh, I’ll do glitter. Oh, and feathers.’

‘Dean! Please, keep it simple.’

‘Nope, can’t do. You’re going to impress a count, lad. But okay, I’ll hold back on the feathers.’ Harry shares the details, shows him the mask and finished the call. He shakes his head. Glitters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you just as excited to know what Harry will wear? I know I am (:


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided Harry needed some domestic fluff to allow him to daydream of the Count.

‘Harry! I’m so glad to see you.’ Hermione’s exhausted face beams at him happily, while she is trying to shush the crying baby on her hip.

‘Hello, ‘Mione! Want me to come over and help?’

She can only nod as Harry steps out of the floo. ‘I’m so tired, Har.’

‘I know, love.’ He holds out his hands for baby Rose. Hermione hands her over. The baby is quiet immediately.

‘Of course. Now you’re silent.’ She looks on the brink of crying. ‘Oh Har, what am I doing wrong? Maybe I wasn’t cut out for mothership.’

‘Nonsense, Hermione. You’re the best mom I know. You’re just tired. And Rose cries because she trusts you. You’re her safe haven. Now, get on the couch and I’ll fetch you some tea.’

‘Careful with the hot water and Rose.’

Harry rolls his eyes when she isn’t looking. ‘Of course, love. Now sit.’ When he returns with the tea, Hermione is vast asleep, snoring slightly. He gently covers her with one of Molly’s quilted plaids. Then he takes Rose back to the kitchen. ‘Let’s make ourselves useful while your mummy is being such a rude host, falling asleep on me.’ Rose giggles and reaches for his long curls. She is in a playful mood.

Harry puts her into her bouncy chair. He creates small puffs or colored smoke with his wand, watching as her eyes grow wide at each different pattern and color. She smiles and tries to grab them. When it doesn’t work, she gets annoyed and starts to sniffle again.

‘Oh sweetie, we can’t have you waking your mummy.’ He smiles and does a silly dance, distracting Rose. ‘You’re just as curious as your mom. You can’t wait to go and explore the world, can you?’ He spells the chair to wobble softly, hoping it’ll soothe her.

Harry rummages through the cabinets, finding ingredients everywhere. His names everything he finds and sings a song for them. ‘Pi-pa-penne will be muy bienne’. He feels silly, but Rose seems to enjoy it. ‘Pi-pa-peaches are so very sweetches.’ He starts cooking while Rose watches him. He hold some broccoli in front of his eyes and pulls them away. ‘Peekaboo!’

Rose’s laughter fills the kitchen. Every single ingredient Harry uses, he repeats the peekaboo with, until Rose starts to rub her eyes and yawns. He puts down his knife and picks her up, bringing her to her bedroom. He changes her diaper before he lays her in her crib gently. He tucks her in, humming a soft tune. When her eyes droop, he tiptoes out.

In the kitchen he checks if the monitor spell is working. When it does, he returns to his cooking. Harry creates a gorgeous Gorgonzola lasagna, a thick and nourishing tomato soup, pasta with broccoli-basilicum pesto and some pork chops with roasted potatoes and asparagus. Satisfied with all his hard work, he notices he hasn’t used the peaches yet. He quickly peels and slices them, and hides them under a thick layer of crumbled dough. Harry uses Hermione’s heart shaped baking mold. He pops it into the oven next to the lasagne and cleans the kitchen with a flick of his wand.

Harry makes a new pot of tea and sits down, waiting for the oven to finish its baking. His mind wanders to the party for the umpteenth time. Would the Count really have eyes for him? There must be lots of people going for the first time. It’s probably just a coincidence. But it would be great, wouldn’t it? Like a fairytale. Harry imagines dancing with the Count, swirling the room, heads held up proudly. He smiles at himself. Romantic sap. Would he dare to kiss the Count? Would it be different from kissing a girl? Would he even dare to go further? He blushes when he thinks of all the things he’d like to try out.

Sometimes he hates his blush. It shows up at inconvenient times, making him feel like a love struck teenager. But not wanting to blush only makes matters worse, so he’s long ago learned to just give in to it. Let it happen, there’s nothing that can change it anyway.

When the oven pings, he takes out all dishes. He puts them under a conservation spell, with a small note in front of each dish, stating what it is. Then he draws a big heart and puts it in front of the cobbler and the roasted potatoes.

_For Valentine’s, because you're the best couple, the best friends and the best parents I know._  
_XXX_

He knows pork chops are Ron’s favorite, and Hermione loves asparagus. He hopes they’ll have some time for each other at Valentine’s Day, and likes to think the food will help.

He checks on Rose, the monitor spell shows her still sleeping soundly. He tiptoes through the living room and leaves Hermione a little note, with a thick slice of fruitcake he found in a pantry and a pot of her favorite cherry tea under a stasis charm.

_Had to leave, have an evening shift. Food’s in the kitchen, I put Rosie to sleep at three. I hope you slept well. Say hi to Ron from me. Hugs, Harry_

Checking one last time to see if the monitoring charms are working properly, he steps into the floo. ‘Auror’s Office.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ball is in two days! What do yóu hope will happen at the ball?


	4. February 13th, London

Harry wakens by the sound of an owl knocking on his window. Quickly he lets him in, giving him a small treat. The owl hoots in appreciation and drops his parcel, before flying out again.

Harry unshrinks the parcel. His hands tremble a bit in excitement as he opens it. Dean can work magic with clothes. The package reveals a dark green pantaloon and an off-white poet shirt. The fabric feels lush and soft. There is no glitter, nor feathers, but the fabric seems to have a pearly shine. Harry finds himself drawn to it, the need to stroke it overwhelming. It feels soft, cool and sensuous. There’s a note underneath.

_Harry, go conquer that Count._   
_Dean_

He steps into the dark green pants. They cling to his toned legs and fit his firm arse like a second skin. The trousers, he likes. The poet shirt he’s not so sure about, he thinks as he dons the off-white thing.

The bishop sleeves are wide, fuller at the bottom than at the top, gathered into a small cuff. He’s glad Dean has laid off on the ruffles and frills. The sleeves are gathered in a puff, right below his elbows. He buttons down the shirt, feeling the smooth metal of the buttons under his fingers. The soft linen hugs his body, Harry revels in it as he tucks the shirt in his trousers.

He watches himself in front of the mirror. Dean has done a great job. He looks sexier than he has in a long time, albeit the kind of sexiness from a nineties vampire movie. His hands slide over his thighs, loving the way the soft fabric feels. He lets his hand rest on the outline of his cock for a moment, feeling it twitch under his hand.

He slowly undresses again, taking care to hang the garments gently in his wardrobe. He showers, puts on his clothes and makes himself a cup of tea. He has the weekend off, but wishes he could go to the office. He feels restless and a bit nervous. Why is he going again? Maybe he should cancel. Yeah, it would be best. If he’s this nervous about it, maybe the time isn’t right yet. He walks over to his writing desk and starts writing a friendly note.

Suddenly he hears his floo chime. ‘Harry!’ It’s Luna. He answers.

‘Hi Lu! How are you?’

‘I’m just checking in on you, Harry. Don’t you dare not go.’ Dean must’ve told his wife he was going to the ball. And somehow she knew he was doubting his attendance.

‘I think I’m getting scared, Lu. I’ve never done this. If I go out, it’s always with you guys. Never alone. Never trying to find... to find...’

‘Someone new? Ginny wouldn’t want you hiding away, you know. Wasting your life. The purpose of our life is to at least try and be happy.’

‘I know, I know. I’m just... what if there’s someone there wearing the same mask as I am and I’m too afraid to follow it through? What if there’s no one there that’s compatible? What-‘

‘Don’t worry, Har. He will be there and you will have a great fuck.’ Harry chokes on his tea and coughs, turning beet red. Luna just smiles her heavenly smile.

‘You just need to go with the flow, Har. The greatest pleasure in life is love, there is no shame in that. There also is no shame in having fun after two years. Ginny would pull your ears if she saw you now, cowering away. You know that. So, you toss away that letter you were writing and you will go and have a lovely time. Bye!’ The floo goes black again. He grins. Luna has gotten the Divination post for good reasons.

Harry stays deep in thought for a while. He knows she’s right. Ginny would hate to see him waste away. He crumples the letter and tosses it in the trash. He’s going.

Harry avidly does his chores, to keep his mind from wandering to tomorrow. When evening arrives, Harry orders some chickpea curry with roti. He eats it in front of his television. He knows just what he’s going to watch.

When the first sounds of Labyrinth come from his telly, he finds himself unwinding. How many times has he watched this movie as a kid? Silently crawling from his cupboard when the whole house was asleep, putting the VHS in the recorder. The movie aunt Petunia thought of as sinful and tossed away. Harry rescued it and watched it over and over. He hasn’t watched in a while, but probably still knows it word by word.

At the first sight of Jareth, he realizes that what he always thought was just the bad guy from a movie, actually was his very first crush on a male. By Merlin, his taste in males has always been like this. Arrogant, selfsure, blond badguys. Just like Malfoy. If Jareth was his first crush, Malfoy bloody hell was his second. He shakes his head, smiling to himself. He’d better not tell anyone this. Ever. He watches the movie unfold, finishing his food.

‘It’s not fair!’ He yells together with Sarah and laughs. If anyone could see him now. His tough Saviour image would crumble instantly.

‘When the world falls dooooown / I’m waiting for you’ He hums as he brings his plate to the kitchen. Returning to the couch, he watches the ballroom scene. He imagines Jareth kissing him there, telling him ‘Look at what I’m offering you. Your dreams.’ What would he want from Jareth? He feels his cock stir to live. A small smile tugs at his lips. Little Harry knows what it wants from Big Jareth. He snorts. His hand reaches down, into his trousers. It’s been some time since he wanked. It might calm him further.

He gently cups his cock through his underpants, feeling it swell at the prospect of a good wank. He pushes up his sweater, letting his other hand slide up to his nipple. He bites his lip. What would he like Jareth to do to him? He pinches his nipple as he pulls out his cock. Would he want Jareth to suck him off? Or... would Harry rather be fucked by him?

Harry Accios the lube. He gets up and pushes down his trousers and pants, looking down at his almost fully erect cock. He sits back again, leaning into the couch. His hand finds his arse. He pulls apart his arsecheecks, his finger feeling for his hole. It feels puckered and inviting. Harry lathers his finger in lube and searches for the hole again. Gently he pushes in.

A sigh escapes him. That feels good. He softly presses deeper, feeling the hole stretch a bit. He bites his lip again. He lubes his finger again, and then his cock. The finger returns to his hole, as he circles his cock with the other and tugs it a few times. He pulls away the foreskin and lets his hand slide over his cock, spreading the lube further. He imagines Jareth kneeling behind him, lining up that impressive cock and pushing it in his hole. He can only imagine what that would feel like.

His hand speeds up a little. He wants to go slow, but he feels his body’s need. He’s sure he can’t hold back long. He imagines Jareth leaning in, kissing him. Out of the blue Malfoy enters his mind. Naked too, cock in hand. Well, Harry grins, might as well let the two fuck me. Imaginary Malfoy makes his way over and straddles Harry, pushing his cock in his mouth. He still feels imaginary Jareth push inside, as he moves his finger in a steady rhythm. His hand slides in the same rhythm as he imagines sucking Malfoy, while Jareth keeps fucking him. His hand flies over his slippery cock. Before he knows it he feels his hole contract around his finger, as he comes all over his hand and couch. Spurts of semen stream out as he grunts. He leans back into the couch, relishing the after orgasm bliss. He cleans and goes to bed early. Only to wank again, his body thrumming with anticipation for the next day.


	5. February 13th, Paris

‘Count Flagler, would you please sit down?’ The small wizard sighs in exasperation. The Count is pacing up and down his dining room.

‘But what if he doesn’t show?’

‘We haven’t received a declination note, so your precious one will probably show up. NOW SIT. We have to go over the event one last time. We need you.’

Reluctantly the Count sits down and listens to his employees, discussing music, food and drinks. His mind wanders to his matching mask wearer. Will he show? Has he waited long enough? Not the first year after her death, that would’ve been rude and inconsiderate. But not too long either, or he would have been taken already. 

Yes. He did right. It’s out of his hands now, he just has to wait. A small grin forms at his lips. He’s waited so long, he’ll live through another day. Tomorrow. Tomorrow he’ll know how sweet his lips will taste and if he was worth the wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sound of writer clapping hands excitedly. Tomorrow! Sleep wel Harry, sleep well Count. You’ll need your energy tomorrow (;


	6. February 14th, London

Harry wakes after a long, wonderful sleep, filled with dreams about Jareth and Malfoy. He sports a morning wood, something he hasn’t woken up with in a long time. He wanks with long, languid strokes, relishing the feeling. He thinks of Malfoy taking him from behind, while he presses Harry’s face down forcefully on the bed by the nape of his neck. He comes with a low moan. Harry cleans up and fetches himself some coffee. He knows he should eat, but he’s too excited. He spends the rest of the morning in bed, reading the novel Hermione gave him last Christmas. He hasn’t had time for it yet. It’s a wonderful story of a vampire Count who falls in love with his prey. How appropriate.

When late afternoon arrives, he forces himself to eat some hot, buttered toast topped with strawberry jam. It’s all he manages to swallow, his throat tight, butterflies in his stomach. Harry showers, brushes his teeth and shaves. He tames his long and curly hair and rubs some coconut oil in it, making him smell like beach and summer. He ties his hair back in a loose ponytail. He uses the gorgeous golden elastic ribbon Hermione once gave him for special occasions. It sparkles in the light and forms a pretty contrast to his dark hair.

Harry steps into the suit Dean has made him. It’s over the top for him, but he supposes a plainer set would have him stick out in the crowd much more than this one. He puts on his socks and a pair of brown shoes. Shiny, but plain. Dean said his shoes shouldn’t divert the attention from his incredible mask, gorgeous blouse or even more gorgeous arse. He puts on a subtle glamour, the same he wears when going out shopping, the one that makes him less recognizable. Combined with the mask it should be enough.

Looking in the mirror, he kind of likes what he sees. He looks more confident than he feels. Glancing at the big, cherry wood clock in his living, he sees it’s almost time. Harry fastens his mask and waits for the pull of the portkey, his foot tapping nervously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you just as nervous as Harry? I know I am.


	7. February 14th, Paris

The portkey transports him into a small booth. Mirrors surround him. He waits a moment to let the dizziness wear off and checks his outfit. Retying the ribbon in his hair and checking one last time to make sure the mask is securely in place, he exits. A long hallway with many booths like the one he just came out leads to an enormous, oaken double door. It’s plated with golden latticework and leads into what Harry suspects is the ballroom. He makes his way over to it, his stomach feeling jittery.

As Harry enters the ballroom, his jaw drops slightly. A lush red carpet leads into an opulently decorated room. Glistening icelike chandeliers are hanging everywhere, their crystals tinkling and glittering. White candles are flickering in it, wax dripping down, forming beautiful creations. Shimmering crystal balls float everywhere, giving the room a dreamlike glow. Stunning marble pillars carry the roof. The walls are covered in black silk backdrops. Enormous mirrors hang where the windows probably are. In front of a wall is a tall, antique clock with 13 numbers on its dial. Harry smiles at the reference to the movie. The ebony parquet is shining, mirroring the lights. A hauntingly gorgeous tune fills the room. Harry recognizes the voice of David Bowie.

Servants with trays full of drinks and finger foods make their way through the room. Harry feels overwhelmed for a moment, watching the dancers on the floor, swirling around laughing. He sees masks of all kinds, horned ones, some with long, Venetian beaks, Phantom of the Opera styled and feathery ones. Rustling gowns leave shoulders bare and dive low between breasts, or have long sleeves and push up cleavages. Silk and satin shirts are worn, some buttoned up, some open to the waist. The trousers are tight and leave nothing to the imagination. Harry feels at loss for a moment, surrounded by such lush decadence.

‘Hello gorgeous.’ A sultry bariton whispers in his ears. Harry looks beside him, to see a beautiful wizard bowing slightly. His silk shirt is open to the waist, showing his toned abs. His trousers are sinfully tight. He winks at Harry through his blue mask.

‘Hello to you too.’ Harry manages, a little startled.

‘Are you here all by yourself?’ The man asks.

Well, duh. Harry thinks. It’s a ball for singles... He decides against telling him that. ‘Yes.’, he simply states.

The wizard closes in and licks a stripe on his cheek. Harry flinches. He might be single, but this really isn’t his way. ‘If you’re looking, I can give you pleasure beyond imagination.’ 

‘That’s a lovely offer, but no. Thanks.’ Harry tells him, as he gently pushes the wizard away and makes his way over to the bar. He looks around and sees the dancers move a lot more sensually than he at first noticed. Two gorgeous witches are kissing with fervor. A couple is in the corner, almost melting into each other. Harry can’t make out their gender, both are beautiful, slender and hot as hell. They notice him watching and laugh.

As he glances back, he sees the flirting wizard snogging a witch with a similar blue mask. He’s not wasting any time to get over Harry’s rejection, he thinks with a wry smile. The wizard makes short eye contact with Harry, as if to tell him what he’s missing out on, before licking his way back into the witch.

People are watching him from behind their masks. Eyes follow him wherever he goes. He’s not sure why, but he senses he’s an exception here. He feels entirely too innocent, too blue. He makes it to the bar and orders a glass of water. Best not cloud his judgement with alcohol, he thinks. He receives a gorgeous crystal tumbler, filled with water and slices of peach. 

A witch in a pink feathered mask leans in and kisses him on his cheek, her hand cupping his crotch. ‘Too bad you’re already matched with him.’ Her grin turns devilish. ‘I wouldn’t mind watching, though’, she says and tosses her head back in laughter as she walks away. He swallows. What is this party? Why are people watching him so intently? What do they know, he doesn’t? 

Not really knowing what to do, Harry walks slowly through the room, taking in its beauty. His auror senses pick up a shift in the atmosphere and he turns around. The crowd parts to reveal a blond wizard, moving around with an arrogant ease. He is wearing a charcoal dress coat, complete with glittering cuffs and long, wavy tails. The collar is turned up and embedded with darkish, sparkling gemstones. They shine in the light with an iridescent glow. A frill of white silk covers his throat, a dark broche clasped in the middle. Sinfully tight black pants cover his muscular legs. He is wearing a pair of long, black boots over them. In his hand he holds a feathered black mask on a stick. 

The count, Harry thinks. A small smile forms on his lips. He looks just like Jareth. Just as arrogant, just as hot. And he’s sporting a very different mask from Harry’s. He swallows away the disappointment he feels. That’s what you get from people putting ideas in your head, he thinks. The count turns his attention to Harry. His gaze trails down Harry’s body. The intensity of the stare makes Harry’s legs feel liquid. An appreciative grin forms on the Count’s lips as he looks Harry in the eye. Harry blushes a bit and drains his drink. When he looks up again, the count is gone. He puts his empty glass on a nearby tray. 

A dazzling wizard, dressed in the most beautiful gown Harry has ever seen, makes his way over to him. The gown’s v-neck dives all the way to his navel, showing his slender body and a small dust of hairs, while covering his nipples. The wizard wears a mask similar in pattern to Harry’s, but grey in color. Too bad. Now he can’t have the Count, this sweet wizard would’ve been a beautiful replacement. The wizard’s lips are painted flaming red and part slightly. ‘Your beauty is stunning.’ Harry feels a blush creeping up as he’s not sure if the wizard will appreciate his compliment.

‘Thanks, dear. Dance?’ He holds out his hand. Harry grabs it without thinking. 

The wizard looks at him while they twirl across the dance floor, his gown rustling as Harry spins him around. When the songs finishes, the wizard trails Harry’s mask. He leans in and whispers in Harry’s ear: ‘Such a shame, dear. You’re already spoken for.’ He gently nibbles his earlobe. Harry shivers as he retreats from the wizard.

Looking around, he sees people are touching, kissing and stroking hair. A dashing witch next to him is grinding into a wizard. Her arse is slowly gyrating over his cock. His hands are deep down into her cleavage, kneading her large breasts. Her face is contorted in ecstasy. He can’t keep his eyes of her as she bites her lips and moans.

Harry slowly blinks, because he shouldn’t intrude. When he opens them again, he unexpectedly catches a glimpse of the count, dancing with a round breasted witch. His eyes lock onto Harry’s as he swirls by, a little lopsided grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

‘Oh!’ Harry exclaims as he watches the count pass. The feathered mask on a stick dangles from the hand that’s holding the witch, revealing his real mask. It’s an emerald green Harlequin pattern, with off-white and gold accents. The same as Harry’s. He tries to make his way over to the Count, but he dissolves in the crowd.

Harry looks around, but he can’t seem to find him. Nearby a wizard in a beaked mask is leaning against the wall. He brazenly checks out Harry, lips to crotch. He pushes himself off the wall and crowds in on Harry, with catlike steps. The crowd around them is encouraging him, laughing and whooping. The wizard walks Harry into a pillar. 

‘Hello, beauty.’ He leans in and presses his lips against Harry’s. Harry pushes him away.

‘Stop.’

‘Why? We’re having so much fun here.’ The wizard leans in again and bites Harry’s neck softly. Harry pushes him away again, less gentle. 

‘You are much stronger than you look, beauty.’ Harry sees the Count behind the wizard. He’s kissing a witch, his hands cupping her arse. Fuck. He tries to see her mask, see if it’s the same as his. The Count’s eyes find Harry’s. He whispers something to the witch. Her head turns and she looks at Harry calculating, her tongue licking her upper lip slowly. Her mask seems the same. Fuck. She beat him to the Count. He tries to struggle free, but the wizard won’t let him go. 

Harry looks at him. ‘I said stop. Move away.’ He pushes him away, hard. The wizard falls on the ground. The crowd around him applaud and laugh as they continue their swaying to the music. When he looks back where the Count was, only the witch is left. Her red lipstick is smooched. She’s wearing a harlequin patterned mask similar in color to his, but there is a scale pattern where his is solid green. Relieved he starts pushing his way through the crowd, searching for the Count.

He sees the Count’s reflection in the mirrors, but when he swirls around, the Count is gone again. It’s madness. People are pointing at him, laughing or even jesting. Just as he’s about to give up in annoyance and walk away, he sees him in the middle of the dance floor. He beckons him, a small smile playing at his lips. His arrogant stance should infuriate Harry. He should turn around and leave. But he finds himself drawn to the Count like a moth to a flame. The Count holds out his hand. Harry takes it and finds himself spinning around the dance floor in the Count’s strong arms. 

The Count is an excellent dancer, Harry thinks as they float around effortlessly. Harry has long ago learned how to dance properly. He turned out to be a more gifted dancer than he ever expected. He feels the Count’s hands on his body, sending shivers down his spine. It’s thrilling, being led instead of leading the dance. The Count guides Harry into a full body sway. He is surprised by the movement, but leans into it, trusting the Count to pull him up again. When he does, Harry’s face is very close to the Count’s. He feels his breath hitch in his throat. The Count smiles a lopsided grin.

‘Hello, precious.’

Harry smiles. ‘You’re doing the Jareth thing quite well, Count Flagler.’

The Count smiles at him. ‘Thank you, Saviour.’ Harry’s eyes widen as he pushes the Count at arms length.

‘How-?’

The Count winks. ‘Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.’ He closes the distance between them again. His hands move down to the swell of Harry’s arse. ‘Although I might also tell everyone here just who you are’. He breathes into Harry’s ear.

Harry stiffens. ‘That’s not-‘

‘-Fair. I have to say, Precious Saviour, you’re doing a lovely Sarah yourself. But unlike Jareth I’m easily persuaded. Just think of a way to shut me up.’ His eyes move down deliberately to Harry’s lips and back up. A crooked smile tugs on his plush lips.

Harry narrows his eyes at him. ‘What makes you think I’m into that, Count Flagler?’

‘Oh, Precious’, the Count lets out a loud laugh, throwing his head back. His hands move up to the ribbon in the nape of Harry’s neck. 

‘Don’t you dare!’ Harry eyes are blazing. Is this Count really going to reveal him to everyone if he doesn’t kiss him? 

‘Dare what, Precious?’ He hooks his finger into the ribbon in Harry’s hair and pulls it, letting his soft curls fall loose. A mocking laugh plays at his lips as he tucks the ribbon in his pocket. He looks back at Harry, eyes suddenly serious. ‘We both know what you want, Saviour. But the choice to give in to your desire is yours.’ He tucks Harry’s hair behind his ears. The gentle gesture throws him off balance. 

He closes his eyes. What is he going to do? If he kisses the Count, he’ll know. Know what kissing a wizard is like. But does he dare? It’s been so long since he kissed, especially a stranger. What if he’s disappointing to the experienced Count? He can hear Ginny’s voice again. ‘Only one way to find out. Go for it, Tiger!’ 

Opening his eyes he sees the Count’s amused smile. ‘You had quite the internal strugg-hmmhm’ Harry cuts him off with a kiss. It’s aim is a bit off, but the Count tilts his head down to move his lips in a better position.

Harry feels how soft his lips are. Just as soft as kissing a girl, he thinks. But then the Count parts his lips slightly, as to invite Harry. He slides his tongue in. The Count immediately chases it with his own, rough and needy. Nope, definitely not like kissing a girl, Harry thinks. The kiss turns sloppy and then downright filthy. He’s never been more glad of the mask, as he wouldn’t want these pics in the Prophet tomorrow. But maybe they will anyway, as the Count seems to know who he is. Maybe this is just an elaborate setup. He feels himself still. 

‘Saviour?’ The Count asks, ‘Stop thinking. What happens at the ball, stays at the ball.’ Harry gasps into his mouth as the Count pushes him closer, his hands returning to his arse. His tongue laps Harry’s mouth, and then he slithers down to his neck. Harry tilts it to give the Count better access. He suckles on his pressure points. Harry moans. The Count presses his crotch against Harry’s. He feels the outline of the Count’s hardening cock against his own erection. Harry moans again. The Count’s fingers slide up to Harry’s blouse. He looks inquiringly at Harry. ‘May I open these?’

Harry feels he should protest. Anyone can see him. But he finds he doesn’t give a flying fuck. He nods. The Count’s deft fingers don’t waste time as he unbuttons his shirt slowly but deliberately, opening it to his navel. The Count takes a step back and lets his gaze slide over his body. Harry feels exposed, conscious about his scars. His body is slender and toned, but he doesn’t have the six pack some other wizards have here. What will the Count think? What was hé thinking, giving his permission to undress? He wants to cover himself up, but the Count grabs his arms. 

‘Nah-ah’, he shakes his head. ‘You’re already in too many clothes for my taste.’ He leans in and whispers: ‘I like my men naked and whimpering.’ 

Harry feels himself blush. The Count moves Harry’s own hands over his naked torso. ‘Feel how gorgeous your body is. How toned and yet soft.’ He trails a scar. ‘Marked by your courage and loyalty. There is nothing to be ashamed of. Look at the people around.’ Harry sees people watching them intently. ‘See how envious they are. How they wish they were me, so they could touch you.’ Harry feels his blush turning a dark crimson. He feels weirdly aroused, even if he’s uncomfortable under all this attention. He’s never liked crowds admiring him. And what if they recognize him by his scars? The Count looks at him intensely. ‘You don’t like them watching, do you?’

Harry shakes his head.

‘Shame. And here I thought the Saviour of the whole wizarding world would get a kick out of all this attention.’ Harry’s eyes flick to the Count’s, expecting a sneer. But the Count looks at him with his amused, arrogant grin. 

‘Perhaps you would care to explore further in a less crowded area?’ The Count asks him as he licks his lips. Harry feels his whole body shiver with want. Not trusting his voice, he nods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh yeah, almost at the smut!


	8. February 14th, the Count’s chambers

‘Side-a-long.’ The Count apparates them into a gigantic bedroom. An enormous round bed stands in the middle, black silk sheets and soft, grey pillows on it. The ceiling is covered in mirrors. The cream colored carpet is soft and plush. There is a table and two fauteuils standing there, with a bottle of Champagne, two crystal glasses and some posh, luxurious chocolates.

Harry snorts. ‘Just as pretentious as your Count status.’

The Count looks at him. ‘You don’t like it?’

‘It’s a bit over the top? Like an uptown brothel?’ Fuck. He’s insulting he Count. Stupid.

To his surprise the Count laughs out loud. ‘Only you, Saviour. Only you. I’ll let you in on a little secret: this is just the place where I fuck.’ He emphasizes on the f, prolonging it. ‘Speaking of which.’ He captures Harry in his arms and kisses him. The Count takes off his jacket and opens his blouse, lips never leaving Harry. He takes of his boots and gestures Harry to do the same. Harry toes his shoes and socks off as quickly as he can. Harry whimpers when the Count deepens the kiss further and walks him backwards, to the bed. His hands slide over Harry’s arse and thighs.

Harry feels the edge of the bed in his knee pits. The Count looks him in the eye, pupils wide with raw desire, as he pushes him on the bed with one hand. The bed is soft and enormous. Harry clambers to the middle, propped up on his elbows, legs pulled up and wide open. The Count takes off his blouse while he climbs on the bed.

The Count’s body is extremely fit. His muscles are pronounced. Harry can’t take his eyes of him. A few silvery scars are on his chest, making his appeal even more sexy.

He crowds in on Harry, pushing him onto the bed and resumes their kissing. Their tongues twist and lick. They bite, explore and suck. When Harry’s out of breath, the Count gets up on his knees. He opens his sinfully tight trousers, to reveal his hard cock. Harry watches it, licking his lips. He wants to taste it. And then it hits him. This wizard has had more companions than he probably can remember. And Harry’s practically a virgin, when it comes to sex with males. He clambers back a bit, feeling so stupid.

‘Precious? What’s wrong?’

Harry looks at him. ‘I... I-‘

‘Do you have doubts? Don’t worry, you’re in no way obliged to have intercourse with me. If my cock’s not to your liking, we’ll just head back to the party. Plenty more fish in the sea there.’ He tucks his cock back, his stance haughty and disinterested, but Harry’s trained auror eyes don’t miss the flicker of sadness and hurt in the Count’s eyes.

Shit. The Count thinks he doesn’t want him. ‘No! No... It’s definitely not you. It’s me.’

The Count sits back and smiles wryly. ‘I haven’t heard that one in a long, long time.’

‘No, you don’t understand.’ Harry blushes and averts his eyes. ‘I’ve... I’ve never been with a man.’ He waits for the Count to laugh, deride him, anything. What he doesn’t expect is the short intake of breath. Warily he looks back at the Count. He watches Harry with a predatory grin, his eyes filled with lust. Harry swallows.

‘No shit. Saviour Boy never had a proper fuck? Never had a cock so deep in his throat he choked?’ He hovers over Harry. ‘Never got penetrated so rough he saw stars?’ His posh voice makes Harry’s flagging cock jump up again at immodest speed.

‘Imagine how tight you’ll feel around my cock when I fuck you deep into this mattress.’ The Count licks a stripe from his neck to his nipple, biting it gently, while moving further down. He stops at Harry’s waistband, looking up through his mask. ‘Do you want me to suck you?’

Harry looks back, feeling his cheeks heat up again. He shakes his head. ‘No, dear Count. I would very much like to try and suck yóur cock.’ He can’t believe he just said that.

‘You keep surprising me, Saviour.’ The Count pulls out his cock again, looking at Harry with such lust, he feels himself go even redder. The Count lays down, leaning against the pillows. His hand moves over his cock slowly. He gestures Harry.

‘I... I’m not sure how to start.’

‘Don’t worry, Precious. Just lick it a bit and remember what you like when someone blows you.’

Harry moves between the Count’s legs, his head close to his cock. It smells wonderful. Musky, male and very arousing. He circles the Count’s cock with his hand, pulling away the foreskin. The shiny, velvet cock in his hand makes his own leak. He licks a little stripe on the cock. The hiss from the Count encourages him. He folds his mouth around it, scraping his teeth against it in the process.

‘Ouch.’

As if bitten by a snake, Harry pops the cock out of his mouth. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t.’ The Count grabs his hair and pulls him back towards his cock. ‘Try and cover your teeth with your lips when you suck.’

Harry tries, and this time it works better. He loves the feeling of cock in his mouth. When he’s bobbed up and down a few times, he’s starting to feel more adventurous. He licks the edge of the crown. The Count groans. ‘Fuck, Po- Precious. You’re a natural.’ Harry resumes his exploring, licking and popping it in and out, smearing precome and spit all over his own face. He experiments with the rhythm, alternating between fast and agonizingly slow blows. He licks his balls, sucking them in, his hand coating the Count’s prick with his saliva. The Count’s sharp intake of breath emboldens him.

Returning his attention to the Count’s leaking erection, he tries to swallow him down even deeper. He chokes a bit. The Count moans when he does. ‘So tight.’ His hands guide Harry’s hair up and down in a steady rhythm. He takes him in as deep as he can, savoring the feeling. Suddenly Harry stops.

The Count looks at him. ‘You didn’t like it?’ Harry grabs his hand and moves it to his rock hard prick. ‘Oh’. The Count smiles a hungry smile. ‘Want me to suck you off now?’

Harry shakes his head again, eyes never leaving the Count’s. In for a Sickle, in for a Knut, so he decides to be bold. ‘I’d like you to...’ He bravado falters as he blushes again spectacularly.

‘Such a Gryffindor. You want me to fuck you?’

Harry nods. ‘Fuck. You have no idea what you do to me, Precious Saviour. Lay back.’ Harry does, quite nervously. The Count pulls off his trousers and pants, eyes roaming Harry’s now naked body hungrily. ‘Such a sight.’ He props Harry’s legs up, for better access.

‘For the first time it’s best to open your hole by spell. Is that okay?’ Harry tries to hide his disappointment and nods.

‘Oh, Po- Precious. Nothing is ever easy with you.’ The Count summons the lube. He slathers his hand in it, reaching down slowly. Harry feels him part his arsecheeks. When the tip of his finger breeches his hole, Harry whimpers, his eyes fluttering shut. The Count presses in further, moving up and down. He leans into Harry, kissing and licking him wherever he can reach.

One fingers becomes two, and the Count scissors them a bit. ‘Okay?’

Harry opens his eyes and raises an eyebrow at him. He points at his leaking cock. The Count laughs his wonderful laugh again. ‘Don’t get cheeky now.’ He pushes in a third finger unexpectedly, soliciting a loud moan from Harry.

‘You like his, hmm?’

Harry nods, eyes shutting again. It hurts, but he’s thrumming with anticipation of finally knowing how it feels to be fucked. The adrenaline is taking over. The Counts removes his fingers. Harry’s eyes fly open. ‘Wha-?’

The Count’s twinkling eyes tell him enough. He kneels in front of Harry and lines up his cock. Ever so gently he presses in. Harry’s having trouble to relax. He feels the Count’s hand move to his cock, giving it small tugs. Harry moans, his eyes flutter shut again.

‘Fuck, Pott- Precious. You feel so fucking good around my cock.’ The Count presses in even further, until he’s in balls deep. He waits a bit, so Harry can adjust to his hardness.

‘Move, please.’ Harry’s voice comes out rough.

‘Always such an eager thing.’ Harry feels the amused smile through his closed eyes. The Count starts thrusting, softly and gentle at first.

‘Please, more.’ Harry’s eyes open and flick to the Counts. He needs this so fucking badly. The Count looks at him entertained. ‘Count? If you can still look at me like that, you aren’t fucking me hard enough.’

The Counts loud laugh reverberates inside Harry. ‘Oh, Precious. Be careful what you wish for. I might offer it.’

Harry snorts a bit. ‘Scared?’

‘You wish, Precious. You wish.’ The Count starts thrusting in earnest, using Harry’s thighs as leverage. It feels fucking fantastic. His head bumps against the pillows as the Count sets a steady pace. Some thrusts are even better than others. Harry has read about this, but never imagined how reality would feel. He moans every time the Count hits the right spot, unable to stop the noises he’s making.

‘So fucking tight.’ The Count groans, his posh voice hoarse. ‘Such a glorious arse.’

Harry’s hand moves to his cock. He starts tugging it. ‘I won’t last long, Count’. He’s been aroused ever since he stepped into the ballroom. He won’t make it for another five minutes.

‘Let go. Come for me. Let me feel you come.’ The Count keeps thrusting, a tiny film of sweat forming on his beautiful face.

Harry’s heart feels like it’s hammering out of his body. He starts seeing white dots, as his breathing comes in small pants. He comes with a low moan, spurts of semen soiling his hands and stomach.

‘So tight.’ The Counts voice turns into a loud groan as his thrusts become unsteady. With one last thrust the Count comes too, his face distorted in pleasure. After a moment of quiet, he tells Harry slightly out of breath: ‘That was bloody amazing.’ Harry grins, too dazed to reply. The Count pulls out his cock and leans in on Harry.

‘Careful, you’ll get spunk everywhere.’ Ginny had hated spunk. A moment of sadness washes over him. His misses her, even if he just had this mind blowing experience.

The Count presses his full body weight on Harry, snapping him out of his thought. He slides himself over Harry a bit, spreading the spunk, while looking at him with that smug, amused smile. ‘Don’t worry. I like it.’ Harry feels his spent cock twitch. Wow, that hasn’t happened since he was a teenager. ‘It gives me a reason to show you my pretentious uptown brothel bathroom next.’

Harry laughs as the Count pulls him up, off the bed. He leads Harry into a véry pretentious bathroom, bath with claws and ginormous gold framed mirrors included. The Count turns on the water of an immense shower booth and takes off the last bits of his clothing. He steps under the two sprays, pulling an already very naked Harry towards him.

‘The masks!’

‘Don’t worry, Saviour. They’re spelled to endure all kinds of fluids.’ The Counts wiggles his eyebrows at him as he captures him in a long, intense kiss. Breaking it, the Count grabs a luxurious, posh bottle. He lathers his hands in lush, creamy foam. It smells of sandalwood. He turns Harry around and starts massaging him, his hands roaming Harry’s body, sliding over them. Taking extra care of his shoulders, back and buttocks. Harry leans into him, enjoying the softness of the foam and the strongness of the Counts hands. The unexpected kindness of his actions make Harry wonder. Does he do this to all his conquests? Or is Harry somehow special? He’d better not get his hopes up.

The Count turns Harry around again and plays with Harry’s cock and balls. To Harry’s amazement it’s already half hard again. The Count grins. ‘Needy, are we?’

Harry’s hands slide down the Counts body, finding him in similar state. ‘Not more than you.’ He tells him, as he fondles with the Count’s prick, sliding his foreskin up and down a few times.

The Count swats Harry’s hand away and grabs both their cocks in his hand. Slow, languid strokes make Harry whimper. He surrenders to the wonderful feeling of another cock against his, while the warm water washes over his hair and back, the soft smell of sandalwood lingering. The Count sucks his neck, marking him. Harry’s moans become louder as the Count’s movements get quicker. They pant in unison as the Count moves faster and faster. Harry comes first, the Count follows directly after, their spunk mingling with the water. Harry leans his forehead onto the Count’s for a few moments, both gathering their breaths and waiting for their heart rates to return to normal.

‘Fuck.’ The Counts still sounds out of breath.

‘You can say that again.’ Harry smiles as they leave the shower.

‘Say that again or do that again?’

‘Insatiable bastard’, Harry grins as the Count hands Harry an incredibly plush, black towel with the Count’s monogram embroidered in gold. Harry raises his eyebrow. The Count lets out one of his laughs as he summons their clothes. They dress in silence and make their way over to the bedroom.

‘Would you like some of that champagne now?’ The Count sits down at the little table, gesturing to the other empty chair.

Knowing he shouldn’t, as he ate too little today and he feels exhaustion pull at him, Harry nods despite himself. He wants to prolong the company of the Count a little longer. The champagne tastes of peach.

‘Trying to make me forget, Jareth?’ Harry smiles as the Count immediately grasps the reference to Labyrinth and laughs.

‘Don’t worry, Precious. As the world falls down, I’ll be there for you.’ The champagne is delicious. Harry finishes it far too quickly. He feels his head spin a bit.

‘I... I should leave now. I don’t want to impose on your hospitality. Thanks again.’

‘No, thank yóu. You were fucking amazing, Saviour.’

‘You say that to all your playthings, I’m sure.’ Harry voices the doubt he’s had from the start. The Count has had so many fucks, he probably thinks this one mediocre. At best.

The Counts eyes flick to Harry’s. ‘Trust me when I say I haven’t had sex this overwhelming in a long time.’ He looks so earnest, Harry feels himself relaxing.

‘Why? I’m sure you’ve had much more experienced, much better, much more gorgeous fucks.’

‘Very true, Saviour. But you tend to do things with such intensity, such passion, it’s staggering. Also: I’ve been waiting for a long time for y- to find someone who just feels right. And you do.’

Harry looks at him surprised. ‘I believe you.’ And he does. He also feels drained. He should leave soon, or he’ll fall asleep sitting.

‘You don’t have to leave yet. Want some chocolates?’

Harry shakes his head. ‘I’d best go home now.’ He murmurs, as he feels himself getting drowsy.

The Count grins. ‘After sex bliss? I tend to have that effect on people, I know.’

‘Arrogant prick.’

‘Rude.’ The Count’s twinkling eyes tell Harry he doesn’t care at all.

‘msorry, will leavezzoon’ He yawns. He wants to get up, but the chair feels too comfortable to part with.

‘Don’t worry. You may sleep here, should you want.’ The Count looks questioningly, his eyes vulnerable, as if he’s trying to find out if he’s crossing a line.

‘Really? Wouldlikezat’ Harry should feel silly or even uncomfortable, passing out after sex. But instead he feels strangely safe and protected. He tries to get up and wobbles. Yep, that champagne was a very bad idea. The Count is up in a jiffy, his strong arms catching Harry before he falls. He guides him to the bed. He gently lays Harry down on it, pulls of his trousers off again and tucks him in. The Count looks at Harry for confirmation when he moves his hand to the nape of Harry’s neck. Harry nods sleepily, and the Count removes his mask. Harry takes down his glamour, smiling feebly. The Count looks surprised at the sudden display of trust.

‘Oh, Harry. Thanks for your confidence in me.’ The Count strokes his hair gently, pressing a few locks behind his ears. He presses a soft kiss on Harry’s forehead.

‘Sap’. Harry grins heavy-eyed. The last thing Harry sees is the Count laying down next to him, looking so intensely, as if he’s memorizing the image of Harry in his bed. Harry smiles as he drifts off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One last chapter tomorrow! Will Harry find out who the Count really is behind his mask? Let me know in the comments!


	9. February 15th, in bed

The Count watches Harry sleep. He looks so peaceful. He is still surprised by Harry’s act of faith. Even after all that he’s been through, he’s still the same courageous, trusting man he was as a boy. And the Count still isn’t as good a person as Harry is. 

He sighs. He really should tell him tomorrow who he is. Will he be disgusted? Having shared his first same-sex encounter with hím, of all people? Or maybe he’ll be raving mad, threatening to go to the papers. Either way: he would never want to see him again, of that he’s sure. The Count swallows. Will he be able to cope with that?

If he looks deep inside his heart, he knows he isn’t. No, he must never tell him who he is. Let him remember their tension and the wonderful fuck they had. Even if that means he can never see him again. It’s for the best.

He tries to sleep, but sleep won’t come. He’s dreading the next day, his heart heavy. Tomorrow, he has to let him go. A silent tear rolls over his cheek and splatters on his pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks @ DiverTazSC for the idea :)


	10. February 15th, Paris

Harry wakes from the smell of croissants. As he opens his eyes, he has trouble placing his surroundings. A blond, masked man is arranging breakfast on two trays. Harry pushes himself up, his body feeling sore. Especially his arse. Lovely memories of the previous night flood his mind and make him smile guiltily as he props himself up on a layer of cushions.

‘Goodmorning, Precious.’ The Count says, without turning.

‘Goodmorning, dear Count.’

‘Had a good rest?’

Harry hums. His stomach is rumbling from all the delicious smells. The Count makes his way over to the bed and positions a tray in front of Harry. It’s filled with pain au chocolate and croissants, strawberries and peach juice. Harry’s mouth waters. The Count sits across him on the huge bed, legs crossed. He looks relaxed, his hair disheveled. ‘Please, tuck in.’ The Count nibbles at his croissant. ‘Coffee will be here in a second.’

A small pop sounds, and a cute, fully clothed house elf apparates into the room. She is wearing an abundance of pink, frilly things. ‘Master be wanting his coffee now?’

‘Yes, thank you Mispy.’

Mispy’s eyes widen when she sees Harry. ‘Master is having visitor stay?’ Her voice sounds astonished as she adds in a whisper: ‘Master is never having visitor stay.’

The count winks at Harry. ‘Well, Mispy, this one was too cute to let leave.’ He stage whispers. Harry grins as Mispy pours him coffee too.

When Mispy leaves, Harry asks: ‘too cute, oi?’

‘Don’t let it get to your head, Saviour. Your ego is already big enough.’ The sneer is without venom and Harry smirks. ‘Now, eat.’

They eat in silence, both relishing the perfect, crunchy croissants.

‘Thank you for last night, Count.’ Harry feels his cheeks redden.

‘Oh, Precious. When you do the blushing thing it makes me want to devour you.’

Harry kicks him. ‘Prick.’

‘Ouch! Careful, or I’ll spank you right where you’re still hurting from last night.’ The Count’s eyes cloud over with sudden desire.

‘Fuck.’ Harry feels himself turn a darker crimson just by the thought. He licks his lips. And then... ‘FUCK!’

The Count looks startled. ‘I’m sorry, Count. I have to be at work.’ He casts a tempus. ‘Well shit, in an hour! And I can’t bloody well show up wearing that.’ He points at his clothes as he quickly gets up and dresses, casting some cleaning charms. ‘I’m so sorry!’

‘That’s alright.’ He sips his coffee. ‘I really liked last night too. And now you should run. Can’t keep the auror force waiting.’

Harry grabs his mask and walks to the door. ‘Thanks, Malfoy.’

The Count’s eyes grow wide as he splutters his coffee. ‘Wh-?’

‘Oh, Malfoy. I ám an Auror, you do realize? And a rather good one, or so they say. Plus, I’ve watched you intently since you were 11. I recognize your movements even when you’re glamoured.’

‘How... how long have you known?’

‘Since I saw you step into the ballroom.’

‘But... You knew it was me before I fucked you? And you still let me?’

‘Let’s just say I have a thing for blond, haughty, posh, cocksure wankers. And yesterday you were two of my fantasies in one. Jareth wannabe.’

The Count, Malfoy, lets out his wondrous laugh again. ‘Oh, Potter.’ He turns serious. ‘Aren’t you mad?’

‘Mad? You just gave me the fuck of a lifetime. And now I really have to go. Sorry.’

A sad look flutters over Malfoy’s face, so quickly the untrained eye would’ve missed it. ‘I guess this is goodbye then.’ The smug smile is back. ‘I hope I haven’t spoiled you for the long line of wizards you’ll fuck after me. I set a very high standard, or so I’m told.’

Harry snorts and throws the mask at him. ‘Cock. I’m not interested in other wizards.’

‘Oh.’ The sad look returns. ‘I’m sorry. It hadn’t occurred to me you might return to the witches once your curiosity was satisfied.’

‘What? Oh no! Malfoy, not what I meant. I meant please, come visit me sometimes in London.’ The relieved look on Malfoy‘s face tugs at Harry’s heart. Harry winks. ‘I’ll open my wards for you.’

Malfoy grins. ‘I’d rather have you open something else for me.’

‘Nah, you can do that yourself. I kinda like you doing all the hard work.’ Harry strides back over to Malfoy and kisses him long and rough. ‘I really have to go now. Or I won’t be able to pull myself away.’

He walks to the door and looks behind him one last time. ‘I might be naked in my house tonight, being a very naughty boy. Maybe someone needs to discipline me.’ His eyes flutter in false innocence.

‘Fuck, Potter.’ Malfoy watches the door long after Harry has left, a goofy smile on his lips. He nods to himself. Yes. Definitely worth the wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is the end! I woke up incredibly early (it’s now 6 in the morning as I’m posting) to write and post the last chapter. I really hope you liked it. Let me know if the ending was as you expected :).


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